


blood on your hands

by akamine_chan



Series: The Sharpest Lives [8]
Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2645420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/pseuds/akamine_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonight, Poison has no patience, he's got nothing but hot anger pounding through his blood, and he's almost choking on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blood on your hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [turlough](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turlough/gifts).



> Brilliant betas by Ande and Luce.
> 
> Title from _the Sharpest Lives_ by My Chemical Romance
> 
> For Turlough's donation to my fanworks drive. Thanks so much, bb. Hope this suits!
> 
> An early days story.
> 
> Ebook available [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4494519).

His hands are shaking, a little. 

Poison stumbles through the door, pushing the guy, whatever the fuck his name is, out in front of him, grabbing his elbow and swinging him around so hard that he _thuds_ against the wall. 

"Fucker," the guy mumbles drunkenly, fumbling at this belt and zip. "C'mon, give it to me." His face is shadowed, but Poison remembers a long nose and pretty green eyes from when they were dancing inside.

Poison turns him around and slides his hands down the back of the runner's jeans, cupping his ass for a moment. He's not wearing underwear and the dude's legs are spread, arms braced against the wall; Poison can only get his pants partway down. It doesn't matter.

Tonight, Poison has no patience, he's got nothing but hot anger pounding through his blood, and he's almost choking on it. He tears open the packet of slick he'd pulled from his pocket and dribbles some into his hand. He not careful at all, rubbing at the guy's asshole before pushing in fast with a pair of crossed fingers.

"M'name's Cam," the dude huffs out, squirming back against Poison's hand, and he wonders what he's been muttering under his breath. Cam is tight, and Poison's dick is so fucking hard, he needs this bad. Needs to forget. He leans forward and bites the back of the dude's neck, ignoring the tickle of Cam's green-dyed hair against his face. 

Something's off, and it takes him a minute to realize that Cam doesn't smell right, there's no familiar _coffeesmokesweat_ scent. It's like a splash of cold water in his face, it dulls his arousal and distracts him, but then Cam wriggles and moans. "C'mon, baby, want you."

Poison sways a little, he'd had a few drinks before he talked Cam into coming out back. "Gonna fuck you so hard you'll be walkin' funny," he growls. He yanks on the button of his jeans and pushes them down, gets his dick out and strokes himself with a palmful of lube. "Ready?" 

"Yeah," Cam says, breathless.

Poison doesn't hesitate, thrusts forward hard and steady. Cam moans, and Poison grabs his hips to keep him still; he's too close to the edge and he needs a moment to get himself under control, otherwise this is going to be over much sooner than he plans.

"Fuck me," Cam demands, struggling a little against Poison's grip, and Poison chuckles raggedly. 

"Easy, baby. I'll give you what you need." He pulls back slowly until he's almost out, then slams back in, setting a brutal rhythm. Cam cries out with every stroke, hands scrabbling against the wall, searching for something to steady himself against.

Poison's on fire, every inch of his skin is damp with sweat and the slap of skin on skin almost drowns out the voice in his head. His thighs tremble as he fights to keep going, nerve endings overloading because Cam is hot and tight and slick, and he feels so fucking good around Poison's dick.

It's not enough; when he closes his eyes he still sees black hair and wounded eyes, and it drives him on and on, until he's sobbing with every breath and his toes are curling hard in his boots, fingers digging into Cam's hips and he comes with a groan, raw and broken.

When he blinks back to awareness, Cam's whimpering, muttering under his breath, his hips hitching back. "So close, please, don't stop, don't—"

"Shhhh," Poison whispers, lips brushing against his ear. Cam shivers, and it sends an echo of sensation through Poison. He's still wound tight, the anger banked but not gone, but he can set that aside long enough to get Cam off. "I got you, motorbaby. I got you." 

And he does. He grinds in deep and curls his hand around Cam's dick, jacking him slow and lazy. There's not enough slide at first, but it doesn't take long for things to get slick. Cam shudders and clenches around Poison as he comes. "There you go," Poison croons. He wipes his hand off on the wall and carefully pulls out.

Cam winces a little, but turns and presses a kiss to Poison's mouth. "That was dyna, baby. Gonna be sore," he grins. He struggles to pull his pants up. "Anytime you wanna hook up, you give me a shout, 'kay?" He buttons his pants and heads back inside the Fuck You house.

The sweat is drying on Poison's skin and he's getting cold. He can feel the vibrations from the music inside of the Fuck You house, but the idea of fighting through the crowd makes him feel crazy. He'd been hoping a quick fuck would calm him down, but all it's done is make him realize how truly fucked he is.

He treks out to where he'd parked the Am and sits on the hood and smokes, staring up at the stars. He touches the scorch mark on his calf, hissing softly at the sting. A lucky shot. Fucking tweakheads trying to collect on his bounty, fucking _Gerard_ selling him out.

"Fucking junkie," he snarls to himself. He knew better, he fucking _knew_ better, but he'd trusted the kid anyway, made a fool out of himself. He was a fucking idiot. "Fuck." He rubbed at his face, suddenly exhausted. 

He didn't want to go home, to face Kobra and Jet and Ghoul, the curiosity on their faces, or even worse, the unspoken 'told you so' that would echo in his head. If he went back into the Fuck You house, he was likely to start a fight with some poor 'runner who didn't deserve his anger.

It was just easier to wrap his arms around his knees and wait for the dawn to come.

-fin-


End file.
